Mirror
by KendylGirl
Summary: Crane discovers his furry doppelgänger, much to Abbie's delight. A little bit of sweetness and fun...


Large eyes fix on him, chips of ice blue. The haughty gaze withers as its subject's muted frustration grows. The stare-down, undeterred by the strumming of fingers on the wooden table and noisy exhalations of breath, lengthens awkwardly from seconds to minutes. When at last he breaks and looks to the ceiling, his opponent marks the victory with a twitch of whiskers and a slow blink, radiating boredom.

"Miss Mills, how long is this creature to remain with us?"

Abbie leans on the kitchen counter with her elbows, her head shoved into the fold of the morning newspaper. Around a bite of cinnamon roll, she asks, "What's that, Crane?"

Crane's lips purse. "This furry abomination. How long must I endure it?"

She lays the paper down on the counter and sighs. Reluctantly, she wanders over to the entrance to the dining room and peeks inside. Ichabod is seated at the table, an enormous volume of Incan history before him, but facing him upon the open page sits fourteen pounds of Siamese cat, the beloved companion of Dani from the crime lab, whom she'd agreed to take care of while the technician went on vacation.

Abbie angles against the woodwork, folding her arms in front of her. Her face scrunches as she tries to stifle her laughter. "What, don't you like Freddie?"

Crane gapes at her. "Like? How could anyone 'like' a beast such as this? It is ill-mannered; it does what it pleases when it pleases, and it does not listen when disciplined."

Abbie snorts. "So, in other words, it's a guy. What's your point?"

Crane's spine straightens precipitously, but he lets the comment slide. He raises a palm and gestures at the cat. "What is the meaning of this behavior?"

Freddie yawns, licking at the tip of his snout. He flicks his tail around to cover neatly the toes of his front feet. Abbie smiles soothingly and shrugs. "Cats tend to be a bit obsessive so they go for the out of place object, like an open book on an empty table. They also like to be in the middle of whatever their humans are doing."

Crane's eyes narrow as he looks Freddie up and down. " _I_ am not your human, feline." To Abbie, he grumbles, "I have encouraged it to move several times, yet it persists. Why does it remain where it is not wanted?"

"Well, cats are also pretty independent, especially a big boy like Freddie. They aren't like dogs, who take to commands pretty well. A cat is stubborn, has its own mind. Didn't you ever have a pet growing up?"

"Horses, yes, but they were not companion animals, per se. My father would never have allowed a thing such as _this_ in our home." He picks at his sleeves, nose crinkling with disdain. "This creature sheds its fur everywhere it walks!"

"Horses shed, don't they?"

"Of course, in the _barn_ ," he responds drily. He raises an eyebrow at Freddie. "Perhaps you could find a barn…"

Freddie's chocolate ears flatten, his long face imperious. As Abbie's laughter twinkles, the cat's azure eyes settle closed, and he appears to be napping, a giant immovable purring Buddha perched upon a map of Machu Picchu.

"Just look at him, though, Crane. Doesn't he look regal? Ancient Egyptians revered cats as gods, in case you didn't know."

He quirks his head at the affront. "That egregious miscalculation no doubt explains in part why their empire fell."

Abbie rolls her eyes and pads over to stand behind Crane, in her stocking feet barely taller than he despite his seated position. She stretches her arm over his shoulder to scratch Freddie's chin. "He's a pretty boy; aren't you, Freddie?" The cat's purr revs higher and he squawks a meow. "Good boy," Abbie coos, rubbing his ivory chest.

"He is less than stellar as a bookmark," Crane harrumphs. "Doorstop, more like."

Abbie swats him playfully on the arm. "Stop it! Come on, he's sweet." She holds her fingers to Freddie's cheek, and the cat instinctively pushes against them a few times. Abruptly, he flops down, sprawling across the book's facing pages so Abbie can massage his ample belly. "Take it as a compliment. Cats are really selective about the people they like."

Both of Crane's eyebrows shoot up. "Am I to understand that you actually enjoy this beast's company?"

"Very much!"

"I cannot comprehend how that might be possible," he pronounces archly, blocking the cat's tail as it is about to whack him in the nose.

Abbie gives a wry chuckle. "Practice, I guess."

Crane's eyebrows knit together. "Of what kind? You've not been the owner of one of these animals, have you?"

"Umm, no…" She slides both of her arms over his shoulders and grasps her hands together in front of his chest. "But I have gotten quite attached to their personality type." Her tone is low and teasing, and it piques his interest; he twists his head enough to digest her impish sparkling eyes and the delicious bottom lip partially clamped between her teeth.

"Have you now…" His mouth draws up at one corner in a sly smile.

"Mmm hmm."

"Do tell, Miss Mills."

She leans down and places her chin on his shoulder. "Well, let's just say I have an affinity for obsessive, finicky, stubborn boys with lots of whiskers and unforgettable blue eyes. They're kind of my _thing_."

"Is that so?" He runs his hands along the soft skin of her forearms. "Are you suggesting that this beast and I bear some likeness to one another?" He means it to be a scoff, but as he inhales the scent of her vanilla lotion, he finds himself far too distracted to take offense to much of anything.

Abbie ignores his question. She clears her throat and adds, "So while other people might not understand them, they make perfect sense to me." She swings around in front of him and sits across his legs, facing him. Her fingers curl around the undone ties of his tunic. "You just have to love them for who they are."

Crane cradles the back of her head with one hand, the other coming to rest on her hip. "That is something you do quite well, Lieutenant," he murmurs, gaze dropping from her eyes to her mouth. He pulls her closer and kisses her, savoring the sweet silk of her full lips and the slide of her tongue against his. When she leans back for air, he breathes, "As is this," swallowing her giggle as he pulls her to his mouth once again.

Abbie snakes her arms under his shirt and around Crane's torso. He hums his satisfaction and presses her hip tighter against him. As his fingers trace patterns in the small of her back, he suddenly feels a sharp jab to several knuckles.

"What the devil?" he growls.

Abbie twists her head in time to see Freddie's raised paw bat down several more times after Crane's fingers. She smothers her face against Crane's neck, but it does little to keep her laughter from bubbling out in waves. "Oh, what's the matter, Freddie Boy? Are you feeling neglected? Do you need some love, too?" She sits back, moving to caress the insistent cat; instead, Crane flaps his hand an inch from Freddie's nose, causing him to bleat a disapproving mao and retreat, leaping to the window sill to commence his morning bath.

Abbie's jaw drops. "Crane! What was that?"

He regains his hold on her, his fingers flexing against her bare skin. "You may find that beast and I to be odd mirrors of one another," he rumbles, "but the one thing I shall never share willingly with him—or anyone— is the pleasure of your affections."

Abbie's eyes close. Between the smooth tenor of his voice and the hypnotic motion of his hands, she feels her insides turning to jelly. "Ok…"

Ichabod lifts her to her feet and stands, grasping her hand in his. "Come with me."

"Where're we going?"

"We have more to discuss on this issue." He gestures toward the staircase. "In private."

Abbie's tongue pokes her cheek. "As you wish, Captain." She starts up the stairs ahead of him, their voices fading as they make their way to the second floor and disappear down the hallway.

"Freddie might get lonely down there."

"Good."

"You want me to scratch behind your ears instead?"

"I'm counting on it."

"Can I call you Frisky?"

"If you feel you have to."

"Crane?"

"Yes, angel?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

As the bedroom door clicks shut, Freddie hops from the window and onto the couch where Crane's wool coat rests over one arm. Freddie climbs onto it, kneading it in circles, claws pulling up dark strings of fabric each time. When he is satisfied, he thumps down in a ball, purring incessantly, and drifts off to sleep with his placid face tucked into the curve of his tail.

Author Note: Your comments mean the world to me! Please let me know what you think!


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